


Post-Script

by fancyasscheeseballs (girlattherockshow)



Series: An Unlikely Love: Rafael & Anna [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:29:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22191826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlattherockshow/pseuds/fancyasscheeseballs
Summary: Rafael gets an unexpected visitor who has a favor to ask him.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Original Character(s), Rafael Barba/Original Female Character(s)
Series: An Unlikely Love: Rafael & Anna [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597711
Kudos: 27





	Post-Script

**Author's Note:**

> Song: "My Shot" by Hamilton.

“Mr. Barba? Anna Stein is here.”

Rafael Barba, the boy-wonder assistant district attorney, was not known for getting tongue-tied. In fact, he was usually the one doing the tying. But when his assistant opened his door and announced Anna’s arrival, he didn’t know what to say. After cases were over, he would nod in the victim’s direction, acknowledge their thank-you, and head back to his office to start all over again with someone else’s nightmare. He couldn’t remember a time when a victim had come to visit him after the case was over—and Anna’s case had been over for a year.

Last time Rafael had seen her, Anna was talking to Olivia in the hallway outside the courtroom where her rapist had just been sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Despite the victory, Anna had looked frail and somewhat dazed. After his years working with SVU, he knew this was understandable; sometimes a victim became so consumed with the trial that they didn’t quite know what to do after it was over. But he also knew Olivia had told her what she told all victims: that people who go through horrific experiences can survive and thrive when they get the support they need.

“Send her in,” he replied, but Carmen was already one step ahead of him—before he could even stand up, Anna was walking through his door. His breath caught in his chest; if he didn’t know better, he would never have been able to imagine this was the same woman who cried on a witness stand as John Buchanan tried to rip her apart. This woman walked tall, her blonde hair cascading down her back, pale skin glowing under the slightest coat of makeup. She looked like life had been breathed back into her.

She smiled at him as Carmen closed the door behind her. “Mr. Barba,” she said, walking toward his desk. “Thank you for taking a minute to see me.”

He extended his hand and she took it, giving him a confident shake. He remembered that about her; no matter how traumatized she had been, her handshake was always strong. “Of course,” he said. “How are you, Ms. Stein?”

“Please, call me Anna.”

“Okay, Anna. Have a seat.” She sank into of the chairs on the other side of his desk and, instead of sitting behind his desk, he sat next to her. “What can I do for you?”

“This is going to be a little—I mean, it’s going to sound—” She took a deep breath. “Ever since the trial, I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do next. As you can imagine, I didn’t really feel I could go back to work there.”

“I can imagine. Your company wasn’t exactly helpful in the investigation.”

“No, of course not. They were more interested in protecting him. The CEO is more valuable than an executive assistant, and I’ve basically been blackballed in the financial industry.”

He nodded sadly, knowing how these things usually went. “Well, if it’s legal assistance you need, I can certainly recommend—”

She held up a hand. “Oh, no, no, that’s not it. But it’s kind of related, I guess. Like I said, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do now. And I talked a little to Detective Benson—Olivia—about it, and she’s the one who suggested I talk to you.”

He was intrigued. “Go on.”

She looked upwards and then let out a loud sigh. “I think I want to go to law school,” she finally said. “I know that that’s going to sound really—I mean, who just ‘decides’ to go to law school, right? And I know that most people go right after undergrad, and I have a biology degree, not political science or English, and—why are you smiling?”

He didn’t even realize he was. But listening to Anna talk reminded him of how excited he had been when he got his acceptance letter to Harvard Law. It shouldn’t even have been a surprise to him, considering he was poised to graduate from Harvard College. But it was still one of the most joyous days of his life, the beginning of the future.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s not that I’m not taking this seriously. But I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “I guess it’s just that seeing how hard you fought for me…I don’t really know any other lawyers, Mr. Barba. And I want to talk to someone who’s done this. I know you’re really busy, and I understand if—”

He shook his head. “No, no, I’d be happy to talk. Right now, I have to finish prepping this case”—he gestured to the open file on his desk—“but if you have some time later this week, I’d be happy to make some time.”

“Of course. If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“First lesson about being a lawyer. Never turn down the opportunity to influence new lawyers.”

She grinned and stood up. “I’ll make a note.”

He whipped out his phone and checked his calendar. “Does Thursday night work for you? I could be free after seven.”

“That’s perfect. I hear Forlini’s is popular with the legal crowd.”

“Usually when I’m there, I’m eating because I’m very uncomfortable.” She raised an eyebrow. “Tends to be where the squad and I go after we lose a case,” he explained. “The food’s a comfort when justice isn’t.”

“Got it. So, where then?”

He thought for a second. “How do you feel about Latin food?”

* * *

The summer evening threatened a storm. Between when Anna left her apartment and her arrival at Coppelia, the Latin American diner in Greenwich Village where she was meeting with Rafael Barba, the wind had picked up and nearly blew the cab door off when she opened it. Thankfully, Rafael hadn’t arrived yet, so she had time to escape to the restroom. Once she secured the door behind her, she set to fixing herself up. She pulled her hair into an approximation of a bun on top of her head, opting to work with the windblown look rather than fight against it. She took her leather jacket off and disentangled her double-layered necklaces. After picking a piece of lint off of her black t-shirt and smoothing the lines of her jeans, she was satisfied that she looked like a decently put-together woman. But just before she opened the door to head back into the diner, she dropped her coat and went back to the mirror.

Before the rape, she’d never worn perfume or makeup. But she decided, once she started to rebuild her life, that it was time to take risks and try new things. She knew this wasn’t a date. She didn’t intend it that way when she’d asked to meet him. She didn’t expect he thought anything different, either. And yet, she still coated her lips with watermelon gloss and gave herself an extra spritz of Chanel Mademoiselle from the travel bottle she carried with her.

When she made her way to the front of the restaurant again, Rafael was just entering the restaurant. She tried to look unassuming; the last thing she wanted was to seem overeager, especially next to the confident and collected ADA.

“Ms. Stein,” he said. “Glad to see you found the place.”

“First of all, it wasn’t easy—this place is a hole in the wall, literally—and second, Counselor, I told you to call me Anna.”

He took off his overcoat, and Anna was surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing a suit. Instead, he had on a dark blue Henley and slim-cut jeans; somehow, she had never pictured him wearing anything other than suspenders and ties. “Well, if you want me to call you Anna, then you’re going to need to call me Rafael.”

The waiter sat them at a booth toward the back of the restaurant, where, thankfully, the noise was much quieter. Rafael ordered a scotch, and Anna ordered a glass of sangria. “Thanks again for agreeing to meet with me,” she said.

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “That said, I’m not sure what I can offer you. I went to law school ten years ago. It’s probably an entirely different process now.”

“It’s not really school I want to know about so much as…well…your life.”

“My life? What do you mean?”

The waiter brought their drinks and asked if they were ready to order. Neither of them had looked at the menu yet, so they tabled the discussion in order to do so. “What’s good here?” she asked.

“Everything. But at the risk of sounding unbelievably boring, the Cubano is the best in the city.”

“Sold.”

“Wow, that was easy. Next, you’re going to let me talk you into applying to Harvard.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “What makes you think you talked me into anything? Maybe I already wanted to get that, and you just confirmed my choice.”

He smirked. “You’ve got a good poker face.”

“After what I’ve been through, I needed to get one.” When she saw his face fall slightly, her blue eyes flashed. “That was a joke. A bad one.”

He relaxed and took a sip of scotch. “I get it. We all cope differently.” Before she could ask what “we” meant, the waiter returned for their orders. Once he disappeared again, Anna pulled a notepad from her bag. Rafael laughed. “You do know that you have to trade your handwriting in for your law license, right?”

“You used notepads during the trial.”

He was taken aback. “You noticed that?”

“I had to focus my attention somewhere, I guess,” she said. “It was either that or be constantly aware of the assault on my life choices.”

She was referring, of course, to John Buchanan. He was the guy every rich white man accused of rape hired to get them acquitted and was also the perfect caricature of a defense attorney. His usual M.O. was to call the victim a slut or accuse her of lying or, Rafael’s personal favorite, claim it was consensual, rough sex. Listening to Buchanan, one would think that every woman on the planet enjoyed being dominated and sodomized.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more to protect you from that,” Rafael said sadly, casting his eyes downward.

Anna’s eyes softened and she leaned across the table. “You did your job. I know that. Why do you think I’m here?”

He looked up at her again, and then at her notebook. It was one of those old-school composition books, the kind he used in high school. “Okay, first question. _Why_ do you want to go to law school?”

She took another sip of sangria. “You promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.”

“You.” His eyebrows shot up, nearly off his forehead. She smiled behind her glass; she knew he’d have that reaction. “I know it sounds like I’m just kissing your ass, but it’s true.”

“No, that’s not why I’m—it’s just—I’ve prosecuted hundreds of these cases, and—well, truth be told…”

Anna cocked her head. “What? What is it?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve never even had a victim visit me after the case was closed, and now I’ve got you telling me that I made you want to go to law school. It’s a bit…”

“Overwhelming?”

He shook his head. “Not overwhelming. Just…unexpected.”

As their food arrived, she said, “If I’ve learned anything from the last two years, it’s that sometimes, the things we expect least change our lives the most.”

It would be years before Anna and Rafael realized how right she was; for the moment, he was content to tell her all about the law, and she was content to listen to him talk.


End file.
